Guards and thieves and a bunch of apples
by lithigia
Summary: Kallian and Kylon, one-shot - because that's all there is.


**Disclaimer:** The Dragon Age world doesn't belong to me

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><p>Aiming apples at city guards from the height of the alienage wall was good fun. Especially in the mid-day sun of a dry Fereldan summer. Especially after a very satisfactory run through the market that resulted in fifteen copper, three silver coins and a steel dagger as rightful loot. Especially if one's target was a tall, broad-shouldered man who blushed like a girl, and the one that had chased her up to the Alienage gate out of principle.<p>

When someone in the Marketplace screamed 'thief!' the guard was bound to search the elf. This one hadn't at first, poor lad. He wasn't from around Denerim, most likely. But he'd learned fast, and better than others. Not that anybody had screamed anything this time. Just on principle.

The apples fell right on the tip of his boots with a thump – one for the left, one for the right. He looked up to her and, of course, he blushed. Too bad she hadn't nicked some ripe peaches instead of apples – those would have crashed open hopefully, and would have smeared his spotless boots neatly with sweet and sticky bits and juices. Sod peaches, she didn't like them anyhow.

"Get her, man. There are worse ways to start, than with a knife-eared wench!..."

The guards roared with laughter, as his ears turned from pink to crimson. Not wanting to let cheap scorn ruin her mood, Kallian focused on his ears – could a man blush more thoroughly?

"She's just a kid" he managed, and the others laughed even more.

She was fiddling with another apple, pondering whether to throw it or eat it. Kid, huh. She may have looked like one, with her three short tresses of black hair springing upright from their ties, with her big caramel eyes and her pointy ears, too much so even for an elf, and with a body half the size of any of the men down there clothed in breeches and a hand-me-down shirt. But she was of age, had likely won more skirmishes than all of them together, and she was soon to be married – that fall, actually – to a kind, elven man, and have a load of elven brats of sons and daughters. There was no way a tall shem who blushed when a girl so much as blinked towards him would call Kallian a kid. She threw the apple.

And, he threw it right back at her.

She caught the blasted thing, although it had been thrown in force, rubbed it on the canvas of the worn trousers she was dressed in, and took a huge bite that she chewed noisily.

Somewhere in the Marketplace somebody was screaming "Thief!"

The bitten apple fell hard on the rim on the helmet of the already running man, crushing in pieces and spreading in bits and sweet juices all over his face.

"Go catch the elf, shem."

ooo

Being received in the ranks of the Denerim's city watch meant no trifle to a thatcher's son from a hamlet in the Hinterlands. Although he'd been serving for more than half a year now, the slightly ungainly air of a mountain man had not rubbed off him entirely, leaving him more prone to stark judgment and unyielding opinion than his likes, but also with a natural inclination towards justice that wouldn't allow him to slight others by the bit, be they petty thieves, fallen women or elves of the Alienage. It also left him more prone to abuse from his peers and wonderfully fit to be tricked and taunted by peevish thugs.

From his station on one side of the Marketplace he towered over the everyday riff-raff and noise of the place in the late summer afternoon, when everybody seemed to pour out from wherever they busied themselves during the day and rummage about in search of food or cloth, of trinkets and gifts to take home to their dear ones, or the mere entertainment that the marketplace offered in the ways of merchandise, jugglers' shows, the passing by of knights in their shiny armor, or the gossip that never ceased to stem from every corner, if one was apt to listen. There were the occasional quarrels between merchants for a better spot or for selling goods at too low a price; there were angry customers that always returned with merchandise they thought was spoilt or too steep; he had come to know most of them all by looks at least, as well as knowing the few pocket thieves that still dared roam the place.

What had she done this time? Kylon wondered, as he spotted the small figure moving quickly along the walls. She couldn't have made it more conspicuous if on purpose. Then, she noticed him and hurried pace even more – that was definitely a cue, she must have done something – he gave chase, knowing that he had no chance of success, that she would reach the Alienage gates way before him, like the day before, and like the day before that.

To his surprise, she stopped a few paces away from the Alienage gate, and waited for him to reach her, which he did, panting, and thinking for the first time in the whole afternoon that it had been a ruse – again. I was after he asked her to empty her pockets that he saw the men in the shadows, waiting for her.

Those men looked dangerous. There were four of them, and all four sneered at once as the first spoke.

"Give it back, thief. Or you'll see your little escort boy cut to pieces."

"I don't have it." she stated sternly. "Do what you must."

They drew blade, and he was to be overwhelmed. He knew it, and she stood behind, with an impenetrable smirk on her face, that he felt burning behind his back. He was to die there. This was a trap, and he was to die out of sheer stupidity. Then, of a sudden, his mood lightened, as his friend and fellow guard Willem appeared out of the blue. He shouted "Hold it" and he was between Kylon and the others in a flash. The four thugs obeyed.

"Good that you showed up in time" Kylon smiled.

"Give back the paper, sodding elf" his friend Willem cried.

At that, she did indeed produce a sheet of paper out of her pocket, but, instead of giving it to William, she handed it to Kylon, to whom she said under breath -

"Read it first."

It was a long list of things and trinkets, weapons and stones, that he didn't get the time to peruse. The last line caught his eye, though – "You'll need a cover – contact William of the City Guards. We've worked with him before."

"I'll cut you in, Kylon. It's good money."

"No, it's not. It's blood money" she said. Kylon didn't get to answer, as Willem drew his sword right away.

"If that's how it is" he offered.

It was not good at all. He had trained with William, and William knew all about the way he fought. The rogues were vicious, throwing sand to his eyes and kicking him with their boots. He was to loose, and quite fast. He was actually crawling in the dirt, sand in his eyes, trying to recover his sword, when he heard her voice hoarse in the back -

"Oh, _sod_ it."

A very sharp knife passed right over his head and dug itself into one of the rogues' breathing pipe, felling him. She then entered the fray, one dagger in each hand. She fought the way they fought –fast and flexible, dodging rather than parrying; she stepped fast to their sides, getting close to their guts at the same time as getting out of one blow's way; she stabbed at their thighs and under their pauldrons from the rear and from the side. Having no armor gave her and edge in speed, and she darted through and around them at so close a distance that they didn't dare strike at her for fear they would hurt one another. Then, Willem caught her with a shield bash, and she was on hands and knees right at his side. Kylon had recovered his sword, though.

"Get the thugs. I'll keep your friend busy." she panted, as he charged forward. There were only two of the rogues still standing, as she had put another one down – fair odds, he thought, cheerfully. He bashed one to the ground, and pommelled the other. They had not much stamina left, apparently, and were damaged enough for him to finish them off with a few precise strikes. Piece of cake.

She wasn't doing as well, though. By the looks of it, she'd never gotten to rise up again. She kept tossing and rolling on the ground to avoid Willem's blows – that he appeared only too eager to deliver – and, Maker, blood was pouring off her side. Kylon ran for it, shouting at Willem in a desperate try to distract him, which didn't avail much. Still, he got the chance to flank him on the sword side, which did the trick, and Kylon found satisfaction in the grinding of his sword on and through the other man's mail. Never a fight had been as personal to Kylon. When the girl kicked the man in the guts making him bend over, he followed with a bash that sent the man flowing to the ground – only to stay his hand in doubt. Willem had been his fellow and his friend; he'd never expected to find Willem dishonest. It was a bitter lesson. Kylon took a deep breath and clutched the hilt of his sword viciously. He stayed the girl's hand as she'd jumped Willem and was preparing to give a final stab. It was him who had to do it, and he did run the man through, however gritty this was. She gave him a short look. She understood.

They weighed each other wordlessly. Both of them were panting, unable to speak from the effort. He was flushed from the heat of the fight. She was pale, her eyes were glittering, like with fever, and she was bleeding badly. Kylon delivered a health poultice from his pack, which she took gladly.

"I must take you in, you know," he said hesitantly. "For carrying weapons."

He didn't know what pushed him into saying that exactly; only a heartbeat before he would have sworn he was to let her go. But she offered a lopsided smile and a sideways look and she came close to him.

"I'll make things easy for you, then."

She hit him in the neck hard. It stunned him on the spot, leaving his hands and legs numb, and his world turned black. He heard her say "Take good care of that paper, Kylon". She knew his name – when in the world had that happened? His head was throbbing and he couldn't move.

Then, he felt a pair of hot lips on his own, lingering there for one small moment – he moaned and moved, too late. She was gone.

ooo

He was soon to become sergeant now. The captain had praised him thoroughly for unveiling the corruption of a fellow guard, as well as for his valor. His brothers in arms feared him and kept their distance, which suited him. They had never been his friends. Except Willem, they had all thought him meek and had never missed a chance to mock him. He wasn't more alone than before.

There was no denying that he looked for her, from his station in the corner of the Marketplace; that he expected her to show up from behind the corner of a building, and, when he as much as caught sight of the small figure of an elf sneaking around, his shoulders jumped a little. The guardsmen didn't give it too much thought, and, although if any of them talked to Kylon about green apples they could see the man blushing to the ears and smiling airily, not one dared say the smallest thing about the elven girl. They all knew what happened to poor Willem, the one who had called her a wench.

Kylon had never seen her since.

However, in one hot late-summer afternoon, an apple that came from nowhere hit him squarely in the chest. He picked it up to find the apple pierced by a small, flat wood splint on which someone had hurriedly scratched two words: "docks midnight".

"It's after curfew."

After all those weeks he hadn't caught a glimpse of her, he didn't find anything else to say. Kylon felt the sudden urge to slap himself.

"It is - after you finished your watch," she said gently, head tilted on the side. He knew that look of hers –she'd gave him the same look before punching him, last time. But she wasn't going to do that now, it seemed.

"I'm getting married tomorrow."

He wished she'd punched him.

"So," he said, his mouth dry, "what business do you have with me?"

"Dunno. I thought, maybe, spend the night with you."

Willem had been right. Elven women were easy, so easy that would give themselves to men right on the eve of their wedding day. Kylon kept silent, as disdain and anger were bottling up inside.

"I take that as a 'no'." She sounded disappointed, and a little sad, maybe. "Too bad. It's not like I am drinking good wine on the docks on every clear night of the year…" She produced a simple bottle, neatly corked and waxed, filled with a fine-looking, golden liquid.

"Oh." There was nothing wrong with having a little wine before one's wedding, was there? He couldn't but breathe with relief. "That's not stolen, or anything, right?"

She let out a small laugh.

"I can truthfully say that I never steal from hard-working, Maker-fearing, honest people. I'm not a thug, ser" she said with affectation, and it was his turn to laugh.

"Very well, I'll take your word for it. It's not like I'm drinking good wine on the docks on every clear night of the year, either."

They seated themselves on the wet planks, leaning into one another, and she uncorked the bottle.

"So, why not come here with your elven friends? Surely, it's not the curfew that's keeping you?"

"Well. It's like this. There are quite few elves in one Alienage at a time – few enough that we cannot marry in the same Alienage without becoming all cousins in a hundred years or such. We can't travel around, as we don't have money and we're not safe on the road. Sorry to say that, but it is how it is. Anyway. Our families and the Hahren choose for us our husbands, whom we don't get to see but on the wedding day. My betrothed wasn't supposed to come until fall. Yet, here he is. We received a note saying he'll arrive on the morrow."

"You're not happy."

"I'm well enough. I will walk tomorrow at my betrothed's side, and I will strive to be a good wife to him for the rest of my life. Still, tonight I couldn't spend chatting merrily with people expecting me to be full of joy, and sulking in a corner would have broken my father's heart. So, here I am." She paused a little. "How's the wine?"

The wine was sweet, bitter and flavored, and quite strong. It warmed Kylon's insides – which could not be said about her words. After receiving her note in the afternoon, he'd been all sweet and fuzzy and hadn't paid much attention to his duty. The fuzzy sweetness was gone now, replaced by the bitter feeling of having lost something dear – something that until the afternoon had never thought his to get.

"You kissed me. You did know about this then, right?"

"Yes, I did."

"So, you led me on."

"I did? I thought I simply took something that I liked from you, while you were in no position to deny me. Maker knows Shems take much more from us – from me - whenever they have the chance."

"You're not saying – "

"I'm – you know – just saying…" She shrugged. That could mean anything, and maybe something that he had to know. He put his hands on her shoulders and he tugged gently, so she would face him.

"Tell me."

Her eyes were glittering in the cold light of the stars.

"What is there to tell? I didn't ask you down here to drag you in a world of vice." She cupped his burning cheeks, and he thought only how rugged her hands were, and how she was a warrior, and how brave it must have been for her to be there with him at night. "This night is all that will ever be mine to give, for wine, for talk, or for an hour of joy. Make of it that which you please, but don't belittle it. Such as it is."

He wouldn't. He couldn't, ever, think ill of her. He was lost in her eyes. He held her close in his arms, feeling her – she had no friendly curves, only the lean tension of a spring. He pulled her closer with one hand, while the other started exploring her face tentatively. He had no experience with women. He didn't even know her name, and didn't dare to ask.

"I love you" he whispered, before she put a quiet finger to his lips.

Her mouth was severe, almost. If she wouldn't have pursed her lips just so, it would have been ripe as a fruit. But, she did. Bitterness marked the corners of that mouth, that in another life would have maybe been soft and sweet at ends, and he wished the bitterness away. He leaned and kissed her; she tasted of bitter-sweet wine and of elderflower. Maker help him.

It was a beautiful morning. Kallian hugged her pillow tight in the eerie silence of dawn, broken only by the deep, peaceful breaths of sleeping people – her father, Soris, Shianni. She would sleep, but not right away – first, she had to remember everything, so that she'd never forget. This would be her little, well-guarded, secret freedom for the years to come – to remember – that for one night she had given herself for love. To remember his hands, his mouth on hers, the chilly wind and the wet planks and the stars when she'd let him have her, when she'd let herself go and had given way to the demanding joy of flesh. Just once, for love. It would be enough to keep her sane for all the rest. Kallian fell asleep smiling.

ooo

"Do you know what day it is today, cousin?"

Shianni's voice seemed mercilessly shrill. And, no, she didn't know. Maybe, if she kept her pillow around her head long enough, she wouldn't have to remember. She hated them all this morning – Valendrian, her father, her kin, her pointed ears. But her ears were her own. She held them dear and wasn't particularly fond of pain. She would definitely stick to her ears; and to them all.

"My - wedding day?"

Her world fell apart that day. She didn't know how far it would all go, until the captain of the Denerim guards came for them. They were both armed, Soris and her, clad in armor pieces that weren't theirs, covered in blood and gore and beyond denying anything. Valendrian and the Warden stood with them, and her first thought was to the Warden, Duncan. She still held his sword, which she would have to give away, and how on Thedas would he ever get it back? Then she felt Soris shudder at her side, and, as the captain asked his question, she stepped forward without much thinking, covering Soris in her move. It wasn't like they would hang her twice if he didn't turn himself in.

"It was me."

Then she caught _his_ eye; he'd been there all the time, behind the captain, where she had dreaded to look. He met her eyes. He understood.


End file.
